Thyme and Lavender, in time to purify where Earth meets feet,
Bathed in springs, so soothing and sweet.
Nature's spirituous spices give blessings,
And they're forever making the winds refreshing.
Wise chefs blend the cauldron of spices,
Herbal passages to culinary horizons.
Kin to mint, Thyme's a delight to nature's family.
Thyme is said to guard against ancient immunity.
Aromatherapy with Thyme lifts one's mind
To realms marked by stars and roots intertwined.
Thyme's perfume sings through stones and blooms,
So gather it reverently before it enhances indoor rooms.
Lavender also smells great
On one's body or served on a plate.
In moonlight rites, it's added to the bath
As a charm for various cures of the homeopath.
It springs from the soil with other chanting plants.
Then, with maritime breeze affinity, it surely enchants.
Thyme and Lavender would float fancy-free
With Enchantresses bathing happily.
Thyme and Lavender will endure in time,
And enhance lives when added to one's paradigm.
Pleasing us each and every day,
These spices sweeten time's sachet.
They soothe us in their scented displays
In the mornings and at twilight's grand display!
The swallow has gone,
Flown away, so has its mellow song
And so forth we go,
into bluer skies—indigo
Tempts drift further till tepid
Southern shades should not bid
Amid its alibi is incidence,
sun shrinks in appearance
Grayest shadows deepen
The first cool breezeway creeps in
Much warmth shall be ebbing,
heralding winter's woolen webbing
I count my blessings
of summer’s endings:
Abundance of sunshine so bright
Zephyrs on a tender August night
Book clubbing with best of friends,
Labor Day weekend marks summer’s end
As Summer ends Fall shall begin,
and what joyful gifts a winding wind
against glistening skin
Autumns kiss of this kind,
an earthly bliss entwined
And when the swallow returns,
no longer summer yearns
no longer summer yearns
A poet once tried to rhyme “turmeric”:
he ate ten big jars, and then murmured “Ick!”
His taste buds murdered,
poor dear old Bernard
bolted up three flights of stairs to be sick.
The Romans preferred a good soak
But ladies choose pools with a bloke
For even a fool
Knows water gets cool
Unless there is a bloke to stoke
she pregant
and he's helping her
saying that's his brothers girlfreind
he aint tryna get no promotion honey.
theyhe dat baby daay.
he did this don't let him fool
you baby! don't let him fool you !
I've been drillin holes for
fourty three years
I know what's going on.
Remission
The living soft redwoods rose up into the furthest skies
Rough dark brown and grey pines stood like warriors nearby
The roads are always wrapped in blue and gray mist
as large lumbering trucks and black Suvs swing by
A young deer from the forest forages for cones
old jazz filters over the bay and hills in a sorrowful sigh
We moved from the highway back into the tall mountain road
with its forests and blue birds singing in a curulean sky
Gone are the parking lots, the hospital glass windows
uniformed people pacing the buildings 7 feet high
Gone are rubbery gloves held in doctors' hands
nurses in masks using Purcell over and over again.
The smell of the Eucalyptus, the grasses, the pines
a place living without masks, needles and antibiotic lines
life again with rosemary, hummingbirds and thyme.
as I walk
through the
desert of time
my thirst
is immersed
in intolerable
pain dare I
withstand
a reach
for tomorrow
and whose
in command
a life in time
and dare I
say grand
it beats its
reception
and falls
to what's
planned
the scent of wild thyme
wafts temptingly through the air
I follow the bees
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Contest: Traditional Haiku
Sponsor: Catie Lindsey
Hand Grown In Thyme.
On Brummie Sea and Burnley oak,
In bearded wood and clove
I hidey in this Mutton cloth
That strangles like a choke.
Lampooned upon this Ferris wheel,
A chuckle for a hoot.
I swung with empty boxing glove
And knocked a joke aboot.
I thank you from my Uncles chin
And dear old Auntie Pat
Who did asunder to a sin
And dogged her pussycat!
They trundled stubborn as a toe
And caring not a care
Sent humphing parties to and fro
Though knew not who they were.
‘Bejees!’ I crippled all a goat
What finery I’ve found,
Four friends in foursome charging free-
A bargain at a pound.
‘Well fancy that,’ a woman sat,
And bending like a river
Weaved not a spell but nasty smell
And sent me all a quiver.
‘How come you like to gape alewd?’
I asked but half an inch.
To which the Lady took a fence
And hit me with a pinch.
As a strawberry sun rises
Changing clouds to cobalt
The coolness of the morn delights
Before the sun's assault
Thyme was in the herb garden
Before the sun arose
He brushed against Rosemary
Came away morose
The sun changed to clear radiance
Illumination bright
White clouds now are wispy fanbrushed
So still no kite takes flight
A few crickets chirp jiminy
Crows caw from their far perch
Other birds are silent, waiting
Nestled deep in their Birch
A dove coos in the distant woods
His coos a welcome sound
Other birds are silent as snow
When it floats to the ground_
Such a precious quiet time alone
A few minutes of repose
The the day of duty overtakes
With life's work overdose
Just a few minutes out on the porch
Thrill touching teach
Heap healthy hitch
Yell yielding yes
Mind moulds mess
Empty ends each
Trust treasures truth
Hurl hounding hoofs
Youth yielding yore
Maze motions more
Etch earns explore
Time travel trip
Hoist heavy heaps
Yield yonder yeast
Meet myriad mist
Enjoy each ease
Text timely tome
Hidden hope homes
Your youth yielding
Move marks meeting
Etch end etchings
Leon Enriquez
11 Apr 2014
Singapore
(Note: This is an Acrostic poem with Alliteration.)
As the mountain sniff the thyme
The valley the basil,
The forests the trees and swamps.
As the waves launched their rein and foam,
And the chest of the sea open to his sensualism and obscenity
As the knower's wisdom roar in the ebb and flow night ,
As the remnants of ruins linked to her argillaceous cradle,
And the seas to their shores and islands to their seas.
....
My face attached to his freckled crescents shadow,
Carved by myths gods, and sacrificial rites,
Attached by panting poems,the smell of death stories..
Escapee from the sand,and dissolved in his nucleic acid.
A little bee flew across the sea, to see what he could be
He herd a giraffe with a throaty laugh : still continued on his weigh
This pour we bee had too pee so he stopped on a Specific Ocean Eyelid
It took him severed ours to pollinated Pollynesian flours and than he flue away
If Yew can reed this rite yore a better POET then Eye
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Doing a rhyme..
is like mixing pepper, curry and thyme..
and it comes out fine..
the smell is sublime..
its just like fine wine..
a blend of many a kind..
if done at the right time..
with the right mind..
will definitely be worth someones while..
perhaps, bring them a smile..
afterall what is life without different styles..
it'd b bland boring and not worth a dime.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`
.
Rosemary didn't want to be next to Thyme
For she couldn't stand his awful scent.
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